I see it. I believe it. Sometimes.

So many times I have been shown and told there is no room for me but insist that my apparently square peg can most certainly fit into this round hole.

Angry with myself for insisting. I'd love to proudly say it is my way to be persistent. I am but that's not what this is. Pathetic. Is what it is. The thought of it sickens my own belly.

I have basically begged and pleaded for one fucking person to want me. Match my level of desire. Balance my intensity with equity. I have a firm grasp on the definition of "eventually". Even subtext is clear. Never is what was meant. I can take that.

Foolishly hopeful. Tears welling in my eyes as I vent tell me I am not done. Yet.
Feel like I should dust off my Scorpio Manual and brush up on the part that tells me when and where be less all-or-nothing 'cause this shit is for the birds.

For all my wanting and professing. All my sincerity. My fantasies are merely wishes. Only wishes.

Fin.

What's It To Ya?

I woke up thinking about the same thing I went to sleep reminiscing on...September 11, 2001. I would be hard pressed to forget where I was and the immediate inundation of shock, anger and thirst for vengeance I felt every time the horrific images flashed in my mind. I also will never forget how my chest and eyes swelled with pride at the images of how Americans of all manner of diversity came together like a tightly clinched fist to heal and help one another.

Several weeks ago, a friend of mine shared a video with me that she and her sons appeared in (time marker 1:08) entitled "Being An American Means...". As an American (an global citizen) I hope that compassion, tolerance and respect abound within and outside the invisible lines we staunchly insist on protecting or regaining depending on who you ask (I just want to know from whom are you recovering your country?).

I won't belabor the point. Check it out below.

BLUNT: Being an American Means... from GottaLaff on Vimeo.

Was it Good for You?

I guess you do what you have to. Whatever makes it all make sense (kinda).

Venture Capital

I have never been one to shy away from taking (moderate) risk. Now when I say "never" I should say that is true when the risk does not involve employing a more vulnerable self. Specifically when it comes to sharing the things I've written. I mean those things inked in blood (metaphorically, of course) and are a Windex cleaned streak-free window to the secret parts of me only exposed in the dimmest of light. I like to keep a little bit for safe keeping.

In my head it is high noon and I am standing outside of the saloon a few paces from my more timid persona (to be likened to Beyonce's Sasha, only mine makes it okay to be less of who I am).

I want to be bare. Naked. "Nekkid," as my grandma would say. I am leaping into the kind of vulnerability one (presumably) feels the first time they disrobe for the first "session". In that unguarded state just before you climb between the sheets it's the tenderness of lovemaking that warms like a wave with the sense of welcome, intimacy and security. My mama told me once about my writing, "God's gifts are given without apology. Certainly, there is someone somewhere that needs to hear what you have to say." I was twelve. It is certainly okay to be THIS open...this honest...this raw...this real...this risky with my passions. It IS okay to be this nekkid.

I Know You See It

Sometimes clarity comes in a warm wave and is underwhelming but you just get what it came to deliver. You see, instantaneously, in Technicolor the principle that eluded you as craftily as the Roadrunner managed to do consistently from Wiley Coyote. The thing is when you get it --and you will, you get it. Involuntarily, it feels so, your lungs draw in a long hard deep breath. It’s solidified –you get it. Grasp it and hold on with white-knuckled determination.


Love does not equal necessary. Nor does it equate to health and well-being. Picture a tree --yes, that analogy…the one about roots and leaves and all parts serving a specific purpose for the life of the tree. Some parts are intended for the lifetime, others for a season.

Recognize!

Like You've Never Been Hurt

Happy Make A Scorpio Day

She Isn't Really A Bitch

I'd heard that Karma's bitch
I found her harsh disposition not so cold
I understand that she only comes where the mat doesn't necessarily say "Welcome" but it does say, "Come In"
My interaction with her was civil
I was waiting for her
Greeted her, to her surprise, with a smile
Told her I'd been expecting her
Set her at ease immefiately
letting her know I didn't believe what had been rumored of her
I knew full well why she was darkening my door
Only to bring me what I deserved
Hand delivered the harvest for the seeds I'd sown
Thank you, Karma
You are not, at all, a bitch to me
'Cause I deserved your presence